liar to him, becomes at laſt equally indifferent. It is conſtantly the ſame Order, conſtantly the ſame Revolutions; he has not Senſe enough to feel ſurpriſe at the Sight of the greateſt Wonders; and it is not in his Mind we muſt look for that Philoſophy, which Man muſt have to know how to obſerve once, what he has every Day ſeen. His Soul, which nothing diſturbs, gives itſelf up entirely to the Conſciouſneſs of its actual Exiſtence, without any Thought of even the neareſt Futurity; and his Projects, equally confined with his Views, ſcarce extend to the end of the Day. Such is, even at preſent, the Degree of Foreſight in the Carribean: he ſells his Cotton Bed in the Morning, and comes in the Evening, with Tears in his Eyes, to buy it back, not having foreſeen that he ſhould want it again the next Night.
The more we meditate on this Subject, the wider does the Diſtance between
